Yeah, I’m talking about you. And you. And you. And you in the back who thinks I don’t see them. And you. You. You. You. And you. Especially you. And you. And you. And me.
It starts when we’re little; we have the urge to touch everything and then put our fingers in our mouth. Were we that desperate for food? Probably not. We probably just thought our fingers were chicken fingers or potato wedges. You’ll never know unless you try, right?
But seriously, remember your Doctor’s appointments when you were little? I do. Vividly. The waiting room is a cesspool for germs. A bunch of toys everywhere, with at least two snotty kids touching each one before running off to look at the fish in the fish tank.
Ahhhh look at the fishy! Look at it! Mom, I said look at it! I see it, honey. Sooo cool. It’s amazing that the fish aren’t drowning. Let me touch the side of the tank and leave my finger prints and germs on it for the next kid to pick up and put in his mouth. Mmm germs. Hey, why is that kid stealing my toy? Hey, you with the cough!
I hated going to the Doctor’s office. Sure, I would get some banana medicine by the end of it, which tasted amazing, but I always felt like I would get sicker just being in the company of other sick children.
Some of us grow up and learn how not to be gross, while others remain that snotty child at the Doctor’s office who touches everything and then tastes it.
There are gross individuals among us.
Every time you go on a subway or bus and you have to stand and hold a pole for balance, tell me you don’t think about all the germs that are transferring from that pole to your hand. You don’t know who’s touched it.
Ten minutes before you got on, a guy could’ve sneezed in his hands while the bus was stopped and then quickly grabbed the pole when it started to move.
Congratulations, you have the insides of his nose on your hand.
I wouldn’t call myself a germaphobe because I think we’re all germaphobes, to an extent. Am I going to think twice before I touch a door handle? No. Some people would. We each have different tolerance levels.
Here’s a question, why is it that we’ve all witnessed someone go to the washroom and leave without washing their hands? You know how I know this? Because when the topic is discussed, I haven’t heard anyone ever chime in with “Oh, do people really do that? I’ve never seen it.” Not once.
And I’m not talking about people who go in the washroom to look in the mirror for three seconds and then leave. If they don’t wash their hands, I guess that’s fine. What did they really touch?
So, if you’ve never seen someone leave a washroom without washing their hands, you’re either really lucky, in denial, or you’re the person who does it.
I’m amazed by this when I see it. You would think people in a public washroom would be on their best behaviour. You would think they would at least go through the motion of washing their hands so they don’t stand out. Nope. They do their thing and then straight out the door, like their headed to jail in Monopoly.
Advance to the exit. Do NOT pass
GO the sink. Go straight to the exit.
Unreal. And it’s not like we can call the person out on it, right? At least in a men’s washroom we can’t. That would break the code. There is no talking in a men’s washroom. Heck, there isn’t even eye contact. There are also no cell phones in sight. You could hold a yoga session in there it’s that quiet.
I don’t know what the noise volume of a women’s washroom is, but Facebook tells me that it is commonplace to take your phone out and take pictures of a mirror.
Oh, I really like how this mirror reflects things. Let me take a picture so I remember it.
That’s the thought process, right?
Public washrooms even try to help gross people. Those automatic flush toilets prevent us from having to touch a lever that is covered in who knows what. Aren’t we fortunate? Yes, until the automatic flush toilet goes on strike, that is.
Then we flash back a decade to a time when automatic toilets weren’t everywhere and people refused to flush. Who do you think you are leaving your stuff there?
Thankfully, when an automatic toilet works, it really works. It’s like the Magic Bullet of toilets. It’s like a minor tremor. Did you feel that?
What about the inside of stall doors? This one fascinates me. Sometimes there will be writing on them.
Think of the thought process behind it. Someone enters the washroom, goes into the stall, and while they’re doing their thing, they whip out a pen/pencil/permanent marker and decide to write a few lines on the door.
What? Who carries a permanent marker with them? Those things will ruin your pants. Also, who do you think you are? Shakespeare?
I never knew a stall in a public washroom could be so beneficial to the creative writing process. Maybe I’ll write my next blog post in one. You know, on location.
I’m talking way too much about washrooms. Let’s exit the washroom.
The world is filled with germs and we all know it. We know it because we know that people don’t wash their hands, at least not properly.
What is this wetting your hands for three seconds and then drying them nonsense? I wrote a post about proper doorbell etiquette the other day, but it astounds me that some people don’t even know how to wash their hands.
I really want to have a lengthy conversation with someone who doesn’t wash their hands properly, or someone who doesn’t wash their hands after exiting a washroom, especially a public one where there are people to stare holes through the back of their head.
I think that conversation would be fascinating. I just want to know if they know how gross they are. And if they don’t, I want to see how serious they are when they tell me.
I’ll leave it at that. We don’t have to talk about people who pick their nose, or sneeze on others, or cough into their hands.
No, we don’t have to go any further.
I don’t want to make you sick.